One Toe Over the Ed
by Feralhousecat
Summary: Eddy’s gone a little too far in his abuse of Double D this time. The problem is, he’s the only one who thinks so! Can he possibly apologize to his sockheaded friend without letting on that he’s going soft? A fluffy little EddxEddy oneshot.


ONE TOE OVER THE ED

_Hey, guys! I thought I'd try my hand at some EddxEddy, having recently fallen in love with the show EEnE. This episode takes place just after the events depicted in the episode "Scrambled Ed." Reviews would be wonderful, and I welcome constructive criticism. Hope you like it! _

Of COURSE the other kids made Eddy stay and help clean up. When the flood waters receded and the rafts drifted gently back to the sidewalk, the unhappy Peach Creekers made their opinion of Eddy's latest scam quite clear to him. The whole stinking cul-de-sac was covered with mud, lobsters, and other garbage that had recently clogged the creek, and as far as the others were concerned, it was all Eddy's fault. So, by extension, it should be up to him to do the bulk of the tidying-up.

Ed (as always) was more than happy to help, but Sarah had a different chore in mind for him. Ever the polite and soft-spoken one, she grabbed her older brother by the collar of his green jacket and shrieked in his ear, "Take Double D home NOW, lunkhead, or I'm telling Mom!"

As he irritably picked up trash from the cul-de-sac sidewalks, Eddy wondered why Sarah cared what became of Double D. Perhaps it was a lingering effect of that stupid crush she'd gotten on him a few seasons back. Or maybe she just understood that Double D was totally useless when he had a bad case of sleep deprivation. It was certainly true that Double D had fallen right back to sleep as soon as Jonny had reeled him in from the flooded cul-de-sac—and even the infuriated screams of the other kids at Eddy's "mistake" had failed to stir him. He probably was better off at home after all, where he could do the least amount of damage while he slept off his temporary stupidity.

Stupid sockhead. If he'd been in proper working order, he would've been incredibly eager to help clean up the mud-soaked cul-de-sac. Then again, if he hadn't stayed up all night working on that dumb toothpick statue or whatever it was, none of this would've happened in the first place.

It wasn't just the failed sea ranch scam that was bothering Eddy—although that had certainly bruised his pride. It wasn't the fact that he was being forced to clean up after a mistake he didn't even make (after all, it had been Double D's fog-brained plans that had capsized the sea ranch sign and backed up the creek.) No, what was really bothering him was something far more concerning. For some reason, he couldn't get that last image of Double D out of his mind—limply collapsed in a heap over Ed's shoulder as the ever-obliging Monobrow bore him back to his own house. Double D's forehead had been wrinkled in his sleep, and he'd looked a bit pale for having been dragged half-dead around the cul-de-sac all day. Eddy couldn't shake the feeling that he had mistreated his sock-headed chum—that, somehow, his friend's plight was his own fault.

This was unsettling for a number of reasons. First and foremost was, of course, Eddy prided himself in not caring for anyone above number one—him, of course. Sure, he kept Lumpy and Sockhead around for company, and because they were useful. But if they were stranded in a chicken drive and he had a choice between them or a free jawbreaker, everyone knew which he would pick. Eddy had worked hard to establish this as his trademark trait…and what he didn't need was some stupid little guilty conscience niggling him out of his hard-earned selfishness!

The truly disturbing part, though, was that this wasn't the first time he'd felt guilty about mistreating ol' Sockhead. There had been plenty of times before now when Double D's pleas of, "But, Eddy!" had touched Eddy's heart. Of course, Eddy always compensated by blithely shoving Double D aside and proceeding with whatever it was that Double D was protesting. No one could know that Double D was able to ignite such feelings of guilt and—gasp!—morality in Eddy…least of all Double D himself. But the feelings were there, all the same, and that above all else was what kept a scowl on Eddy's face throughout the whole cul-de-sac cleaning episode.

After about a half an hour of absence, Ed returned from his mission of mercy and joined in the merriment. Eddy cast a glance in Ed's direction to try and catch his expression. It didn't tell him much. He wanted to ask Ed how Double D was, but such a question would be far too conspicuous in front of the other kids. Besides, Ed probably didn't even remember going to Double D's house in the first place.

Suddenly, a terrible thought struck Eddy. What if Ed had just dumped Double D in a yard somewhere? Worse yet, what if he was in a gutter or a mud puddle or something? For whatever reason, Eddy found himself unable to bear the thought of persnickety, neat-freak Double D waking up in a pile of mud—especially after all he'd been through that day!

Eddy growled and almost pulled out one of his three black hairs in frustration. Why in the name of all the delectable jawbreakers at the candy store should he CARE what happened to Double D? He'd pulled plenty of pranks and stunts on Double D before—and this one hadn't even really been his fault! If Double D had been that tired, why couldn't the idiot have just said so?

He sidled nonchalantly over to where his tall, smelly friend was busily picking up garbage. "So, Ed, uh…what took ya so long, anyway? Double D's house ain't that far off."

"I stopped at my house for buttered toast, Eddy!" Ed announced.

Eddy swallowed hard. Ed hadn't gone so far as to leave Double D at his house, had he? If the stupid neat-freak woke up there, he'd probably have three heart attacks. "But you took Sockhead home first, right?" he demanded.

"Oh, sure," said Ed, hardly sparing his shorter friend a glance. Smiling contentedly, Ed picked up one of the fish that was lying on the street and stuck it in one of his pockets. Eddy rolled his eyes; fodder for a fight with Double D later. He could just hear the argument now: "Dispense with that frightful specimen of ichthyology, Ed!" "But, Double D, it is my friend!" "It's contaminating every innocent nose within a four-house radius!" "It is named Frank, Double D."

Eddy sighed; he knew his companions too well. But there was no time for that now—the task at hand was making sure that Double D was safe at home sawing logs. "Whattaya mean, 'oh, sure?' Did you take him home, or didn't ya?"

"Fish make my belly button purple, Eddy," said Ed, completely ignoring him. Or completely oblivious. Or both.

Eddy simmered, livid with frustration. How the heck was he supposed to do a good deed when his only accomplice was a moron who couldn't add two and two? And, more importantly, how the heck was he supposed to get anything done when the idea of Double D snoozing in a bush somewhere wouldn't leave him alone?

Finally unable to take it any longer, Eddy threw down his garbage sack and stalked off towards Double D's house. Fine. So it all came down to him. If Ed was being an idiot, the only solution was for Eddy to go check on Double D. He'd make it quick—just a fast peek in Double D's house, and then he could get on with more important things. Namely, the pursuit of quarters. He and Ed could come up with tomorrow's scam while they were waiting for Double D to sleep off his exhaustion.

"It's not fair," Eddy muttered to himself as he marched irritably down the sidewalk. "It's hard enough being self-absorbed around here without stupid Sockhead gumming up the works! Why should I have to worry about him and feel bad when he gets his stupid little feelings hurt or stays up late building sissy toothpick bridges and what have you? He's got parents who do nothing but worry about him anyway."

By the time he reached Double D's house, he was fairly broiling with fury. He was irate at Ed for refusing to give him a straight answer as to Double D's wherabouts. He was infuriated at Double D for not observing his bedtime and toothpicking himself into such a state of weariness. Most of all, he was livid with himself for getting so worked up about the whole thing.

So angry was he that he that he slammed the front door open and yelled, "Hey, Sockhead, are you alive in there or what?"

His eyes fell on a limp figure just ahead of him. Double D was sprawled out across the couch, apparently sleeping peacefully. He was so tired that Eddy's scream barely caused him to stir—his eyelids fluttered slightly, but he made no other sign.

Eddy glared at his friend's still form. "Gee, Ed. What'd you do, just dump him on the couch and leave?" Despite all his earlier convictions to just take a quick look-see and move on, Eddy stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He meandered over to Double D's makeshift bed and looked down at the snoozing figure. The young inventor was still soaking wet, and his face was pale—Eddy felt a stab of guilt and immediately looked away, searching for anything to distract his attentions.

He found what he was looking for in the form of sticky notes stuck up over the couch. Eddy leaned forward and read, "Dear Eddward, a chapter a day keeps ignorance at bay. Love, Mother. Eddy smirked and chose another one. "Dear Eddward, please do not sit on the couch without a robe. Love, Mother and Father."

Eddy's smirk turned into a frown. "For cryin' out loud, how hard is it to talk to your kid without sticky notes?" Sure, there had been a few times when Eddy was about to get grounded that he'd wished his parents would use the written word to punish him rather than the spoken one (or yelled one, as the case might be.) But Double D's family took this to its extreme. He often wondered if Double D's numerous neuroses had something to do with his parents' unusual mode of communication.

He finally allowed himself to look back at Double D. Sockhead's breathing was even, and he was smiling slightly in his sleep. Eddy noticed that Double D's ever-present black hat was somewhat askew. Unconsciously, he reached down and straightened it…Double D would have a fit if he woke up with his head bare.

And in that one moment—the worst possible one—Double D opened his eyes.

Since time had suddenly slowed to a crawl, Eddy was able to appreciate the irony playing out here. Both Sarah's and his own screams had failed to pierce Double D's haze of exhaustion, yet one touch to his beloved sock-hat and he had snapped to attention.

…well, sort of. Although Double D was certainly awake, "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" wouldn't have been an accurate description of him. His eyes were only half-open, and indeed, only half-focused. He looked as if he was still partially asleep—which was a blessing, as far as Eddy was concerned.

"Eddy?" Double D murmured. He yawned cavernously and blinked up at his companion. "Where am I? And what are you doing here?"

"Oh, um, nothing!" Eddy shrank back and pretended to be examining his fingernails. Why on earth was a flush stealing into his cheeks? Sure, he was embarrassed at being caught doing something nice, but blushing was a bit much—wasn't it? "Just sort of checking on you to make sure you didn't bump that all-important brain of yours this morning!"

"This morning?" Double D repeated drowsily. "Why? What happened this morning?"

A million well-thought-out stories rose to Eddy's mind: _You were sleepwalking and I brought ya home; You fell out of your window and spent the morning in the hospital; Ed gave you a hug and you passed out because he smelled so bad._ Double D was so out of it that he would surely buy any one of these fibs, and anything was better than him knowing the truth. But as Eddy opened his mouth to speak, he realized with a shock that he couldn't lie to Double D. If Ed had been in the room it would have been effortless—deceiving Double D was one of Eddy's skills, and Ed would've played along. But alone with Double D, after all that he'd put his poor, exhausted brainiac through—he found he couldn't look into those half-asleep green eyes and lie to them. He just couldn't.

So despite the fact that every egocentric bone in his body screaming in protestation, Eddy sighed and said, "I messed up, Double D. And I fixed it, so you don't have to worry about it, but you almost got hurt. Bad. So I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

Although he was still groggy, Double D's expression became thoughtful. "Why, Eddy…could it be you feel remorse for a mistake you've made?"

Eddy turned his back on Double D; he couldn't stand watching him any more. For some incomprehensible reason, it made his chest hurt to see him lying there, weary and bedraggled. "I guess it could be." Then, in a sudden fit of anger, he whirled back and growled, "But if you tell anyone, I swear I'll blab about what's under your hat!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Double D.

What was that contented, knowing smile that was stealing across his face?

Eddy wanted to threaten him further, but the words wouldn't form on his tongue. Instead, he choked, "So…uh…anything I can get you before I hit the road?"

"Nothing in particular, but thank you for your concern, Eddy." Double D settled back into the depths of the couch and closed his heavy eyes. "You've already given me everything I needed."

Eddy scowled, slipping back into his familiar role of blustering, short-tempered leader. "Whattaya mean, Sockhead? What'd I give you?"

"Just the answer to a question I've pondered for quite some time," Double D murmured sleepily. Was it just Eddy's imagination, or was there a hint of pink rising to the young inventor's cheeks?

Eddy gave up his façade of anger and asked desperately, "Double D…what's going on? What did I say that's made you so happy?"

Double D opened one eye and looked at him. Although he was already half-asleep, he said, "It's commonly known as subtext, Eddy. You might consider looking into it…maybe you'll find the answer I've found, too."

And then he was asleep, leaving Eddy to work the blush from his cheeks and watch Double D solve scientific quandaries in his sleep.


End file.
